Page 127 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"Of course, my lord," Lord Mehmet says with a bow, though his eyes linger on Nesilhan with obvious reluctance.
"What urgent matters?" Nesilhan asks, but there's relief in her golden eyes even as she plays along with my obvious excuse.
"The kind that requires privacy," I reply, offering her my arm. "Shall we?"
She takes it gratefully, and I feel some of the tension leave her shoulders as we move away from the crowd. "Where are we going?" she asks softly once we're out of earshot.
"Somewhere you don't have to smile at people who might be lying to your face," I say bluntly, and her sharp intake of breath tells me I've hit the mark.
"I can't keep thinking like that," she whispers, her free hand moving to her belly again. "I can't suspect everyone of ulterior motives. It's not... It's not healthy."
"No," I agree, guiding her through a side door and into the quieter corridors beyond. "But it's also not unreasonable after what happened with Zohan. Your instincts are trying to protect you and our child. There's nothing wrong with that."
We walk in silence for several minutes, moving deeper into the palace toward a destination I haven't visited in years. The sounds of the party fade behind us, replaced by the soft whisper of our footsteps on marble floors.
"Where are we going?" she asks again, curiosity replacing some of the strain in her voice.
"Somewhere important," I reply, pausing before a door carved with intricate shadow-work patterns. "Somewhere I should have shown you long ago."
I press my palm against the carved obsidian, letting my magic recognize the familiar signature, and the door swings open silently. Beyond lies a chamber I haven't entered since my mother's death—her private solarium, preserved exactly as she left it centuries ago.
Moonlight streams through crystal windows, illuminating tapestries that depict scenes from the shadow realm’s history and comfortable furniture arranged around a fireplace that springs to life at our entrance. Books line the walls, and fresh flowers bloom in vases despite the decades of neglect—magic keeping everything perfectly maintained.
"Kaan," Nesilhan breathes, stepping into the room with wonder. "This is beautiful. Whose room was this?"
"My mother's," I reply quietly, watching as she moves through the space with reverent curiosity. "Her retreat when court politics became too much. She used to bring me here when I was very young, before... before she died."
Nesilhan turns to face me, understanding dawning in her eyes. "You've never shown anyone else this room."
"No one," I confirm. "Not even Emir. This was hers, and after she died, I couldn't... I sealed it away and tried to forget."
She approaches me slowly, her hands reaching up to cup my face with gentle understanding. "Why are you showing me now?"
"Because you need to know," I say, covering her hands with mine. "When the world feels uncertain, when you can't trust the people who should love you most, you need to know that some things remain constant. Some loves are absolute."
Her eyes fill with tears she's been holding back all evening. "I keep thinking about what Zohan said. About how easily he gave them information about me. About how little I apparently mattered compared to his own fears."
"His weakness doesn't reflect on your worth," I say fiercely. "His betrayal says nothing about who you are and everything about who he chose to be."
"But what if—" she begins, then stops herself.
"What if what,hatun?"
"What if I can't trust my own judgment about people anymore? What if I'm a terrible judge of character? What if—" Her voice breaks. "What if I put our child in danger because I'm too naive to see threats coming?"
The raw fear in her voice makes my chest ache. I pull her against me, feeling her body shake with suppressed sobs.
"Look around you," I murmur against her hair. "My mother decorated this room herself. Every tapestry, every piece of furniture, every book—she chose them all. And you know what she told me about them?"
Nesilhan pulls back to look at me, tears tracking down her cheeks.
"She said that beauty requires both strength and vulnerability. That the most precious things in life are worth protecting precisely because they can be broken. She wasn'tnaive, Nesilhan. She was brave enough to love despite knowing the risks."
I guide her to a comfortable chair near the fireplace, settling her carefully before moving to a small chest on a nearby table. Inside, wrapped in silk that still smells faintly of lavender, lies my mother's most treasured possession—a delicate necklace of silver and moonstone that catches the firelight like captured starlight.
"She wore this every day," I say, returning to kneel before Nesilhan's chair. "She told me once that it reminded her that some things endure beyond betrayal, beyond loss, beyond death itself. When Erlik killed her, this was all that remained—preserved by her magic, waiting."
I lift the necklace carefully, the stones cool against my palms, slowly warming to my touch. "I want you to have it. Not because you need protection—you're stronger than you know. But because you need to remember that you're loved absolutely, unconditionally, without reservation or hidden agenda."
